


That Cold Sunrise

by MathClassWarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV Ignis Scientia, Past Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare
Summary: ForAudrey'stwitter prompt:“I should have...”
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25
Collections: FFXV Creators' Haven





	That Cold Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreyskdramablog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyskdramablog/gifts).



It’s an odd feeling, walking through these familiar corridors after so many years. Ignis can picture everything so clearly as they approach the royal family’s suite. He extends his hand and touches the skinny trunk of a potted tree. It’s just where he’d expected to find it, though the maple of his memory is still covered in vibrant maroon leaves, rather than the bare, spindly branches of the present. 

“Fucker just let all the plants die,” Prompto mutters. He’s been trudging along near Ignis’s left elbow—defeated and deflated, like they all are. The sun may have returned, but they couldn’t save their king. 

“Well, we’re here,” Gladio says, his soft voice catching on the last word. 

When the door squeaks open, Ignis steps past him, into the room, and flips on the light switch out of habit.

“Bulb’s out.” Gladio touches his arm, and Ignis steps further inside to make space.

“It’s _been_ out, since before we set off on our journey.” Ignis smiles, recalling that it’d actually been out long before that. Noctis had insisted that he didn’t need light on the rare occasions he stayed overnight at the palace. “I kept meaning to come back and change it,” he adds. It’s almost physically painful to remember how frustrated he was at the time, not having the room prepared for Lady Lunafreya’s arrival. Now, none of that matters. Neither of them will be staying here. 

They’ll have to plan a memorial—and soon. It won’t be long before people start to return to the Crown City, looking to see what’s become of their homes. They’ll also be looking for guidance from what’s left of their government. Ignis supposes that’s going to be him now, unless he can do something about it. 

He takes a few steps to the bed and sits, smoothing his hands over the comforter. The air is stale and smells of dust. Though the room feels undisturbed, the door was unlocked. Ignis can’t imagine that Ardyn would have passed up the opportunity to come in here during the decade he played at being king. With a wave of nausea, Ignis imagines how the accursed pawed through Noctis’s personal belongings—less a spy than a voyeur. There’s nothing consequential here, nothing useful he could have learned about the Chosen King, but there are many things that would have no doubt amused him. Ignis clenches his jaw against the rage bubbling up hot from his chest. It quickly dissipates when he hears muffled, choking sobs from the corner—Prompto’s breaking down again.

“Hey, hey, hey—” Gladio rushes to comfort him, and Ignis stands to join them, resting a gentle hand on each of their backs. Ignis is struck by just how far his friend has come in handling emotions—both others’ and his own. He’s been such a caring, steadfast presence in the lives of the people he loves. He helped them all make it through the end of the world.

After a minute or two, Prompto inhales sharply. “I’m—I’m cool. Just . . . seeing all his stuff—”

“It’s a lot,” Gladio agrees.

“Guess we should go through this, first.” Prompto moves towards the bed and sets down the backpack he’s been carrying. It contains all the things Noctis had with him at the end. Sitting down again, Ignis catches the scent of campfire—the last that the four of them will ever share. 

Quietly, Prompto lays something on the bed. Running his fingers across it, Ignis recognizes the sweater his friend had worked on for years—teaching himself how to knit in crowded rooming houses, at camps, and in the backs of trucks crossing their blighted country. Prompto is truly a genius with his hands—whether it’s crafting, repairing vehicles, or tinkering with Imperial tech. Ignis has been impressed by all the skills he’s developed over the years, stepping up whenever and wherever he was needed—usually before anyone had to ask. Ignis is glad that Prompto was finally able to give Noctis this token of his love, even if he could only wear it the once.

“We gotta give this back to Talcott,” Prompto says, passing a book to Ignis—Jared’s notebook. Noctis had been reading it on his last night, looking for information he could use against their adversary, or perhaps he was just curious about what his friends had been doing in his absence.

With Talcott’s help, Ignis explored a great number of shrines, monuments, and tombs during the Long Night. They’d uncovered images and inscriptions that sometimes clarified and sometimes challenged what Ignis had known of the Cosmogony—a text he’s been studying since he was a boy. By the time Noctis returned, they’d been to nearly all of the locations Jared identified in his notebook, but still hadn’t found what Ignis was really seeking—a way to stop the scourge and restore light to Eos without sacrificing their king.

“We were so close,” Ignis breathes, clutching the book in his hands. He recalls meetings he insisted on attending in person and late nights spent preparing public statements. He thinks of the places they didn’t explore, the threads they didn’t choose to follow, and the puzzles left unsolved. There was so much time during those ten years that Ignis could have spent looking for a solution, if he’d only learned to delegate better. 

“I should have . . .” Ignis takes a shuddering breath. He should have tried harder. He should have taken more risks. He should have given this higher priority and left matters of survival and day-to-day governance to others. There was no shortage of smart, competent people willing and able to step in. While he’s loathe to admit it, Ignis realizes that a part of him enjoyed being in charge. Now he’ll have to live with the fact that his inflated sense of his own importance may have stood in the way of saving Noctis’s life. 

“Iggy,” Prompto whispers, sitting on the bed next to him.

His voice—normally so controlled—bends and cracks as he laments, “I _failed_ him.”

“No.” Gladio clasps his shoulder. “Don’t say that, ‘cause it’s not true.” He pulls Ignis into a hug and murmurs, “And anyway, _I_ was his fucking shield.” Ignis can feel Gladio’s chest shake as he, too, begins to unravel.

“He was gonna go through with it, no matter what,” Prompto says, his voice low and thick. “There wasn’t anything we could do.” After a long, unsteady breath, he goes quiet, shifting his weight to the wall. It’s easy for Ignis to conjure the image of Prompto curling in on himself—retreating.

This isn’t the first moment like this for the three of them, and it certainly won’t be the last. Far in the back of his mind, behind the fog of grief that threatens to consume him, Ignis assures himself that before too long, they’ll pull themselves together enough to finish this task. As for the rest of it—whatever comes next—he’ll just have to think about that another time.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song [Cue the Strings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ohbC32ZNjs), by Low. It's my #1 sad dawn anthem.


End file.
